Ricochet
by Willowfly
Summary: In the aftermath of their greatest sacrifice, the Hamato family pieces themselves back together. Time heals all wounds. Some just take longer than others. A post-Exodus fic.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I spend way too much of my time thinking about the gaps in canon we don't get to see, speculating about how things came to be. This fic is my attempt at filling in the blanks between the final episode of the Exodus arc and the beginning of "Cousin Sid" in a way that makes the most logical sense. This is a 38 chapter monster that I already have mostly finished. Updates will be every Saturday if I'm running on schedule. As a note, some minor elements of canon have been changed for the sake of realism. I hope you enjoy!_

_-Willowfly_

_**Prologue: It All Starts With the End.**_

The countdown starts. Each beep of the clock beats in time with the pounding of his heart as it ticks its way to oblivion. Donatello watches with his family all around him, his blood turned to ice, each second shaving their lives paper-thin. Five seconds stretch on for years.

5...

They almost missed it. The massive ship stirred like a sleeping titan, breaking free of its umbilicus tethers with a choking burst of heat and smoke. The ceiling opened up, swallowing partygoers like a hungry animal. A table, still dressed in its white linen table cloth, clattered to the floor. It barely made a sound over the deafening roar of the engine.

4…

And with that ship, the Shredder would be gone. They did everything they could to stop him. Ripped off his false skin. Tore him down to his mechanical parts. And then, exposed the fragile alien underneath. But even then, he was too strong. Even then they couldn't stop him. And now he was leaving. Fleeing Earth. With newly gathered strength, he would go on to conquer new galaxies, ravage his native planet that had caused him so much suffering. And then, he would return to Earth with a new bloodlust carved in his alien heart .

In that future that wasn't a future, Don had seen what the world would become if the Shredder wasn't stopped. With the remainder of the party crashing down around them, he could feel the world crumbling beneath his feet.

3…

That's why they jumped; launched themselves from the platform and onto the moving ship in a heart-stopping moment of weightlessness. From that moment on, it was a suicide mission. And Donatello knew-they _all_ knew-there would be no coming back from this.

Lying broken, battered, and bleeding on the ship's cold metal floor, there was only one thing left to do.

2...

Honeycutt had said the situation was hopeless, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

Their lives have always been tangled in the threads of a never-ending cycle of revenge. They had been raised and trained as ninjas to avenge the death of their father's Master. His Master, who had fallen victim to his own brand of betrayal and deceit. And in turn, fell into the web of an ancient war of vengeance that spanned galaxies.

All their lives, they had fought the same battle as their ancestors. But as the final countdown numbers his last breaths, Leonardo's voice echoes in his head.

_We could end this._

1...

The pillar of light erupts with a volcanic force, pitching him forward in an unbearable wave of heat and rubble that cracks his skin, rattles his heart, and snatches his breath away. The world fades into blistering white.

* * *

The chaos freezes like a gasped breath held in waiting lungs. Scorching heat becomes crystal, a wall of snow that hangs in the air like fog. All he feels are pins and needles, and he's floating, listlessly drifting in an endless sea of static. His heart is as unbeating as a stone in his chest. His body hums like fluorescent lights with the flatline ringing in his ears.

Donatello is sure he was dead. But in that blindingly white, bodiless world, voices filter in from darker places.

"—can't breathe! I need—"

"—arterial bleed. He's—"

"—need a biosuspension chamber prepped! _Now!_"

It's like startling awake from one nightmare and into another. His body half-numb with a brain full of molasses, awareness sinks its teeth deep into his arm and drags him like a savage dog into the swirling confusion of semi-consciousness.

The last thing he remembers is the molten blaze of the ship's power core combusting into pure, destructive energy. The next, he's blinking up at… something. Something living—a network of tissue and veins lining the walls and ceiling. Vaguely, he wonders if he's been eaten alive. And his arm hurts. A _lot._

He'd be more worried if there wasn't utroms everywhere. They hover with worried looks over mounds of tubing and equipment, barking orders, hurriedly muttering to themselves, mechanical arms ticking needle-like fingers with frantic precision. All around him is a living, techno-organic marvel of Utrom science.

Laughter burbles in his chest from a well of pure, sick relief and panic. From the minute it starts, it doesn't feel right. There's no humor or happiness in it, and it bangs its way out of his throat like gravel. But he laughs so deliriously his eyes fill with tears. Even when utroms, flitting around the room like mayflies, stop to squint at him worriedly. Even when the pain shredding his arm makes him want to throw up because he _knows_ that pins and needles feeling, that cold static that tears you apart and makes you feel like you've been turned inside-out and back again...

It was a _transmat._

He's _alive._ Against all odds, he's alive. He made it out of there. The Shredder… They…

"No!"

His body is still numb as he bolts upright with the grace of a poorly-strung marionette. His broken arm screams at him in protest, making him stifle one of his own, his vision going dark around the edges.

"Donatello, _please! _You must lie back."

But he can't. He's wild-eyed and completely out of his senses, still half-blind and deaf from the blast. There's nothing to laugh about.

All around him, the real picture unfolds. His arm is in a sling. Utroms swarm like bees over mounds of blood-stained gauze. The sick smell of burnt hair, iron and antiseptic permeates the air. Above the hurried voices, the hum of machinery and the beep of monitoring equipment, he can hear his family in the throes of misery.

On one station, he can hear Raph's ragged breathing even over the clamor of the emergency room's chaos. His chest aches in sympathy as every breath grates through his brother's lungs with a deep-chested wheeze.

Across the room, he can barely see what he knows is Leo. The only thing visible are his feet and the growing crimson pool on the floor. There's blood _everywhere. _Utroms' faces are spattered in red over grim expressions, their metal limbs bathed in the stuff.

It happens in an instant—pure panic floods his senses, lighting a fire in his chest. Eyes wide, his heart thundering inside of him, and the taste of metal on his tongue, he ignores his own pain and swings his legs over the side of the cot. Can't catch his world tilt-a-whirls around him but the ache in his chest is screaming just go to them, be with them, do _something_. His brothers are dying right in front of him. He _can't_ just lie there and watch them die!

Someone retches beside him, and he hardly has to look to know it's Mikey. On the next bed over, he's got his face half-buried in a metal bucket, his body lurching with every heave.

"Mikey?"

His brother's blue eyes are swollen and bloodshot. Tear stains streak his face. A trail of saliva dangles from his mouth until he spits, gathering his composure just in time to start a new wave of tears.

"Donny!" He sobs, and in an instant Don's stumbling on jelly-legs, yelping at the sickening crunch of shifting bone. But he grits his teeth and shakily wraps his good arm around his brother's shoulders. The bucket gets shoved away, and Mikey wraps his middle in a bear hug that crushes him more than a little. But it feels good. Every part of him is cold, shaking, disjointed, and Mikey is a warm anchor that still doesn't feel quite real. The world is falling to pieces around them, but they're alive. They're alive.

"Careful," he chokes around the lump in his throat, his head swimming as Mike accidentally brushes his bad arm. The pain is almost enough to make him pass out. "My arm..."

Mike shifts, but otherwise barely seems to hear him, still trying to talk to him between shuddering breaths.

"They... they took...," he starts, takes a deep breath then lets the rest tumble out. "They took Master Splinter! They said something about his heart... They had to put him in one of those freaky tank things again! It's because he got _shocked_, Don!You saw it, right?"

In his brother's voice, Don can hear the same feverish delirium. All he can do is hold onto him, weakly running his good hand in slow patterns across his shell, trying to clear his own mind and piece together what's happening.

Things are bad. Leo's bleeding out. Raph might stop breathing, and Master Splinter might very well be dead already… It takes everything in his will to stay where he is, resist the urge to charge his way into the fray and do everything he can to help save his brothers. But he doesn't know what he's doing. His mind is reeling and his body refuses to cooperate. He wishes he could do something. He has to do _something._

"They're gonna die, aren't they?" Mikey asks miserably. The look in his eyes sends a hot lance through Don's stomach. He can't find the words to answer.

"Glurin! If they're stable, I need the remaining turtles moved to Med Bay Three!"

The order barely registers in Don's mind until an utrom in a metal exosuit is trying to gently break them apart. It takes every ounce of his self-control not to physically lash out. And judging by the look on Mikey's face, he's not much better off. Their nerves have been frayed to nothing, they've been as close to death as anyone ever has been, and their brothers are inching their way closer every second. Nothing can drag them away.

"Please," the utrom begins again in a placating tone, not missing the hostility in Don's expression. "You must return to your station so we can help your brothers."

He won't lash out physically. Not after these people just saved their lives. But under pressure, Donatello's tongue is as sharp as any weapon. "We almost _died_ on that ship! To save _your_ planet!" He snaps with no small hint of hysteria, the pain shooting through his arm only spurring him on. "Now I'm about to lose my father and my brothers. I'm _not_ leaving them."

"Donatello, _please_," he tries again, mechanical arms held open in a peaceful gesture. "We need to prep your brothers for surgery. The infirmary needs to be cleared for decontamination."

_Surgery._ The word sparks nightmare images of bone saws and rusty scalpel blades. If he wasn't panicking before, he certainly is now.

"What?"

"_No!_"

Mike's eyes are wide as saucers. His jaw practically hits the floor. But Don is still up and fighting. There's no way he will ever let someone touch any of his brothers with a scalpel blade.

Before Glurin can answer, another utrom swoops in to intercept."Your brothers are in need of immediate surgery or they _will_ die. Now _please!_ We need you to evacuate the area."

The second utrom's sharp tone snuffs the anger right out of him. The utroms wouldn't hurt them. He _knows_ that. These were the people Master Yoshi swore his life to protect, the people who had saved Master Splinter's life once before. The people who, barely minutes ago, gave his entire family a second chance. They were practically family. And as much as that deep-seated fear of dissection screams at him from the darkest corners of his mind, he knows he has to trust them.

"Don..." Mike starts, his voice quavering, half fear and half surrender.

"Okay," he breathes, casting a sidelong look at the chaos surrounding his remaining brothers. "But you have to tell me everything."

Glurin only nods his robotic head hurriedly, the other utrom rushing back to the bloody war to save their dying brothers. For now, it has to be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

_It's so surreal_, Don thinks as the hovering gurneys take them down the winding hallway to Med Bay Three. Swarms of utroms and organ-like architecture pass them by in a cold, slow-motion blur. He wants to say something to Mikey, but his mouth is dry and his mind is racing like a hurricane.

It's the first time he realizes he's in shock. Back on the ship, there was no time to process anything, only to act and react. And when it came time to make the ultimate decision, all he could think about was how many lives they were going to save.

He's not sure why being alive after all of that has him so shaken. They had gotten lucky. Shell, luck couldn't even begin to describe what had happened back there. And just minutes ago he'd been so, so relieved. But now… Now he's facing the very real possibility that he and Mikey may soon be the only remaining members of their family. The last two of their kind. Before, there was a measure of comfort in the idea of dying together for such a noble cause.

Now they were so terrifyingly alone.

When they reach the med bay, he glances at his brother's face. If possible, Mike's gone even paler than before, fresh tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. But as they settle in, he's the first to break the silence, his voice thick and full of gravel.

"They're gonna be okay, right?"

"I cannot say for sure," Glurin answers gravely. "Only time will tell."

"You said you would tell me everything," Don cuts in like a knife, almost startled by the intensity of his own voice. "You have to promise me you'll answer everything I ask."

"Of course. I will do my best."

A minute of silence ticks by uninterrupted as he tries to sort through his thoughts. There are so many questions, so many things racing through his head. How did they know about their plan to overload the power core? Had Honeycutt's distress signal even mentioned they were on that ship, or were they just that lucky? It's something he finds hard to believe. And then there's a million and one worries and fears about Leo, about Raph, and he never even got a chance to _see_ Master Splinter. He tries to see it all from a logical perspective, to think of only statistics and facts, sort through the blur of events leading up to now as rationally as he can, and start his questions there. But the fear and panic over memories of Raph's ragged breathing, the sight of Leo's blood all over the floor...

As good as Don is at thinking on his toes, it's too much. His head is a mess and he feels like he can't catch his breath.

"Honestly..." he breathes shakily, "I don't even know where to start. How... how did you know we were on that ship? I thought the Professor's distress signal hadn't even gone through..."

It's a question with hardly any significance in the shadow of everything else, but it's an easy way to start.

"We didn't," Glurin answers simply. "We have known about Ch'rell's plans to leave Earth for quite some time. When we received Honeycutt's transmission it was severely corrupted. All we knew was that his ship had left Earth and we had made plans to intercept it. It wasn't until our sensors picked up on the unstable energy signature that the Council had decided to activate the stasis bubble."

That familiar delirious feeling hits him so hard he almost starts laughing again. What were the odds...?

"Wait until Raph hears about this. He..." Mike's wan smile shifts into something that makes Don think he might get sick again. "He's always going on about... Turtle Luck."

Don shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts in order before they both lose it completely. "I need to know what's happening to my family."

"Yes, of course." Glurin takes a slow breath before he begins. "Leonardo has a stab wound through his left shoulder that has penetrated through several muscle layers and shattered his scapula. We're currently dealing with an associated arterial bleed our surgeons are working to ligate."

"But he'll be okay," Don insists. It isn't a question.

"We are optimistic. Though he has lost a lot of blood, and there may be nerve damage. We will know more after it's repaired."

So maybe things weren't as hopeless as he thought. By the sheer amount of blood he'd seen on the infirmary floor, Don had been almost positive that Leo was a goner. If they were dealing with modern human medicine, maybe he would be. But the utroms were light years ahead of human technology. So maybe there was a little more room for hope than he'd first allowed himself.

"I'm a match if he needs a blood transfusion," Mikey says, his voice growing steadier, desperately grappling for any shred of good news. Leo was going to be okay. He may never be the same, but who cares? Leo with a handicap would still be the same Leo that always used help him cheat at hide-n-seek. He would be the same Leo that gave him half of his own share of food when things got tight. He just wants to see his brother alive. That's all that matters.

"But we've never actually tried it," Don adds, deflating a little of his brother's careful optimism. "They were compatible in the lab, but that doesn't mean there's no chance of a reaction." They've just never been desperate enough to attempt it until today. He remembers spending long hours teaching himself about transfusions and crossmatching for a time he hoped would never come. Mikey and Leo had been the only lucky ones to be compatible. Though with their unstable DNA, it's hard to tell if compatibility in the laboratory equals an actual match. It was still a huge risk. But as nervous as that made him, if it was a matter of life or death, it was worth a shot.

Glurin shakes his head at the offer. "That will be unnecessary. The Utrom have access to a synthetic blood product compatible with all species. He has already successfully received his first unit."

The relief is dizzying, like a massive weight has suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. Don collapses back against the gurney, still cradling his bad arm, suddenly aware of his racing heartbeat. Utrom technology never ceases to amaze him. His family's lives really were in the best hands they could possibly be in. For once, he wasn't going to have to make those hard decisions. He didn't have to play the impromptu medic with too few tools and even fewer resources. Maybe someday when things aren't quite so horrible he could learn more about that amazing, life-saving technology, but now wasn't the time or place.

"...What about Raph?" Mike chimes in, too impatient to waste time thinking about synthetic blood products. He sounds almost afraid to ask, and Glurin's grim expression says he has every right to be.

"Raphael has withstood major trauma to his chest and abdomen. His shell has been cracked in several places, and we are unsure of the full extent of the internal damage. But the medics believe there is blood in his lungs, and several organs have been injured."

Mike whimpers like someone stabbed him in the stomach, the sound of careful optimism when it all comes crashing down, starting another quiet wave of tears. But Don can't feel anything but numb. It's hard to tell if things just weren't sinking in, or he was blocking it out as some kind of coping mechanism. But it feels like there are so many thoughts running through his head, so many emotions bombarding him all at once that he just can't pick one.

Raph could die at any moment. The utroms, with all their knowledge and superior technology, don't even know the full extent of his injuries. That's what terrifies him the most. But he pushes that thought down, saves it for when he finally gives in to his panic later, and keeps asking questions.

"And Master Splinter?"

"Had arrested by the time we reached you, though we managed to revive him shortly after. He has sustained serious electrical burns over eighty percent of his body, and his heart has been severely weakened. He's been placed in a stasis chamber in the hope that his heart will slowly strengthen with time."

"Okay," he says breathlessly, though he knows it's anything but. He didn't want to know the statistics, can't even process the details right now. Not with the amount of pain he's in making it hard to focus. And it's hard not to feel completely exhausted, even when the last thing he wants to do is sleep. An effect of the shock, he thinks. He just has to keep telling himself that his family is in good hands. If they could be saved, the utrom _will_ save them.

Mikey, on the other hand...

Don's shaken out of his thoughts by his brother hurling his guts out into the bucket again. And as much as his head swims and his body protests, he's out of bed again, sliding in next to him and wrapping his good arm around his heaving shell.

As optimistic as Mikey is, as good as he is at brushing off the bad stuff and dealing with things, he isn't irrational, and he knows when things are _really_ bad. That means when times get tough enough to leave no room for a silver lining, it hits him _very_ hard.

Even still, Don has never seen him this upset before, and hopes he never will again.

"Shh... I know," he soothes, rubbing slow circles across his brother's shell. "If anyone can help them, it's the Utroms. They saved Sensei before, remember?"

Doubt tastes bitter on his tongue, but he wants so badly to have some kind of faith, to stop thinking of statistics and _believe_ that everything is going to be okay.

Mike sucks in a few deep breaths, seemingly trying to calm himself. But as soon as the sobbing stops, he's howling with all the rage and hurt he possesses. "He... he's dying because of _me_!"

The raw emotion in Mikey's voice drives a railroad spike through Don's chest. All he can do is hold on to his brother as if he's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. And at the same time, he only wishes he could let himself feel that same level of grief.

So Mike cries for the both of them, feels everything Don can't. And Don stays strong because he has to, because it's the only thing he knows how to do. Because if he doesn't, there's no one else to fall back on.

It makes him sick to feel this utterly alone.

"I'll let you have some time," Glurin interrupts softly on his way out the door. "A medic will be over in a few minutes to tend to your injuries."

Don hears him, but doesn't answer. Staying strong takes all the focus he has.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you all for your reviews. It feels so good to have them in my mailbox again after all these years. And chops to the anon who picked up on my Mirage reference. Glurin is in this fic by name only, but putting that little Easter egg in there made me way too happy._

_Just a reminder: You may notice that some elements of canon have been slightly altered in this fic for the sake of realism. There's a ton of inconsistencies between Exodus and The People's Choice. This's just my way of sorting them out._

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

They were halfway through setting Mikey's leg when Glurin made his return appearance to Med Bay Three. Don hadn't noticed him at first, considering they'd given him enough muscle relaxers to knock out a horse when they set and casted his arm. It was almost impossible to fight off the death grip of exhaustion making his eyes close on their own accord.

Despite the sedatives, Mikey still had enough presence of mind to hold his hand and moan while the utrom medics stretched his leg to align the bones with a nauseating _crack_. Still, Don found his head bobbing forward, the rest of him feeling like a big bowl of pudding that made it way too easy to lose track of everything.

"Donatello?"

Don startles awake with snort, still holding Mikey's hand. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but his eyes don't seem to want to open again, squinting hazily at the utrom leaning over his shoulder. "Hmm… wuah?"

"Sorry to disturb you," he says quietly. "But Leonardo is out of surgery. They just finished his procedure a moment ago."

A new bolt of worry gives him a much-needed shot of adrenaline that slaps him awake and drags him stumbling back to his senses. Don scrambles upright in his chair, ignoring the way the jostling makes his arm throb. "How is he?"

"From what I'm told, he's doing well. He's still anemic, but they were able to stop the bleeding quickly. He's receiving a second transfusion of synthetic blood product now, and should be waking up from the anesthesia at any moment."

"That reminds me," Don sighs with the new flood of relief, rubbing Mike's arm in a way he hopes is encouraging. They were just placing the cast now, and it feels like they'd been doing this for ages. "I wanted to ask you about the nerve damage."

As he sat there waiting for Mike's leg to be fixed, he'd been thinking about how Leo would react to only having full use of one arm. It would drive him crazy at first, and there's no doubting the effect on his ninjitsu would be a huge emotional blow along with a physical one. But he would cope. Don had faith. This was _Leo,_ after all, the guy who could do anything he set his mind to.

More than anything, Don was just glad to have his brother alive and doing well after everything they've been through, even with the potential of lasting damage. He just needs to be prepared for the long road ahead.

"Unfortunately I don't know many details," Glurin says. "But his surgeon will want to speak with you whenever you're ready."

As glad as he was for the opportunity to have his questions answered, for a moment Don wonders why the surgeon was waiting to talk to him specifically. It only takes a second to realize that he doesn't have anyone else to talk to. It's just him. In charge of everyone's well-being.

He's exhausted, drugged, and still in pain, but he can't give in to it now. Not yet. He can't let himself rest until he has more solid answers. And even then, if there's bad news, he's not sure if he'll be able to rest at all.

Don sighs again, wearily rubbing his forehead. "I can talk to him in a few minutes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he answers tiredly, gesturing at the two medics still busy wrapping Mikey's leg. "I'll be there as soon as we're done with this."

"All right," Glurin assents. "I'll let him know and I'll be back to escort you shortly."

Then he's gone, leaving Don alone to grapple with his own thoughts, reaching again for Mikey's slackening hand. He can tell Mikey's just as exhausted as he is. Maybe more so, after literally crying himself sick. Even as they're placing his bandage he's completely drifted off with a little help from the sedatives, still wincing in his sleep.

Though he's mostly comfortable and dozing by the end, Don still hates the idea of leaving him. He waits until the two medics are gone, switching off the lights and sitting in silence in the company of his own racing mind. Without distraction, all his worries grow from an iron pain in the bottom of his stomach to a howling storm of fear and doubt. A whirling cyclone of unanswered questions and unending variables that pummels him from the inside-out. His heart is thundering in his chest.

The last thing he wants right now is to be alone. But he can't wait to talk to that surgeon, and he can't rest until he sees Leo's face again. He can't just sit there in the dark, having a silent panic attack while Mikey sleeps. There has to be something he can do. Even if there's nothing, he still has to try. There's no other choice. It's time to go.

"Hey," he half-whispers, giving his brother's hand a squeeze. Mikey groans quietly, rocking his head a little until he manages to open his eyes a crack.

"Are they done?" He croaks sleepily, lifting his head as if it weighs a hundred pounds to get a good look at his new cast.

"They're done."

"It itches already," he groans, thumping his head back down on the pillow and draping an arm over his eyes for dramatic effect.

"Mikey, listen," Don starts again. "I have to go for a little while. Leo just got out of surgery. But I'll be back soon, I promise."

"Nooo...," he whines, throwing his arm away from his face for a more effective pout. It only makes leaving that much harder. "I want to go, too."

"_Mikey_. You can barely keep your eyes open. I'll be back soon. Just stay here and try to rest. We can visit him again later."

Mike manages to open his eyes wider, blinking owlishly as he reads the lines of worry on his brother's tired face.

"Glurin said he's okay, right?"

Don nods once, his mouth pressed in a hard, stubborn line. "He'll be fine. He just lost a lot of blood, but they're fixing that now."

Mikey doesn't answer right away, staring at him thoughtfully and considering Don's promise as if his brother might walk out that door and never be seen again. But eventually he nods, reaches for Donny's hand and gives it a final squeeze before letting go. "Just tell him I love him, okay?"

Don's smile is tight around the growing ache in his chest.

"Okay," he says, rubbing his brother's head affectionately before he helps him settle in, fussing over the pillows propping up his leg. Then Glurin's in the doorway again, waiting for him with some kind of hovering wheelchair. Waiting to take him to Leo. Anxiety prickles like ice in his gut. "Try to get some sleep."

When Mikey doesn't respond, Don almost thinks he's drifted off again, trying to convince himself he'll be fine when he's gone. It'll only be for a little while. But as Glurin helps him sit, Don knows the muscle relaxers aren't the only thing weighing him down.

"Donny?" Mikey says muzzily. It sounds like he's talking in his sleep. Glurin stops him in the doorway.

"Hm?"

"Love you too."

"I know." It feels cheap even while he's saying it, but he can't afford anything else. He has to stay focused, try to keep his head clear for what lies ahead. He knows Mikey will forgive him. "I'll be back."

And then they're gone, traveling the same winding hallways he remembers from before. It isn't any easier the second time.


	4. Chapter 4

If Don hadn't hit the peak of exhaustion before, talking with the surgeon had certainly finished the job.

The minute Glurin wheeled him into the office, it felt like all the air had been crushed out of his lungs. It was dark, just like every other part of the ship he's seen, but small and unwelcomingly bare. At the far end of the room was a station of monitors that emitted a weird, greenish glow. As Glurin left them to their privacy, his sense of foreboding only grew.

Leo's surgeon, a crimson-colored utrom who had introduced himself as Dr. Obligado, was obviously a brilliant doctor, but had a bedside manner that left much to be desired. Don had wanted to ask him everything, to learn things about their anatomy and physiology that he never had the chance to with the resources he normally had available. But the good doctor was stern, hardly looking up from his work tapping on the monitors as he prattled on about what was important while disregarding his less relevant questions.

It had all boiled down to this: their species was completely distinct from the lifeforms the utroms were accustomed to treating. Luckily, during their time spent on Earth, Obligado and his fellow scientists had managed to study the biology of native organisms in staggering depth. Reptiles, insects, but mainly mammals. He had treated many humans in the past, mostly the guardians of his stranded race, with a fusion of modern Earth and utrom medicines.

But Donatello and his family were biological anomalies. They could use all the modified practices they learned through centuries of working with humans, but there was no way of knowing how mutant turtle bodies would react to medications. There were no studies on healing process or wound management. No charts or textbooks to refer to while trying to steer clear of vital organs. They were flying almost as blindly as he usually was.

It isn't a good feeling. As he watched the utrom flit between the screens of his work station, his hands grew clammy and it was getting harder to breathe. His constant faith in utrom science is what had gotten him this far without a nervous breakdown. But to hear that even the utrom where in the dark...

Just as panic is rising like floodwaters in his chest, Obligado takes a thoughtful pause, his red eyes piercing through the pallid monitor glow.

"However," he continues, "I have a colleague who is far better versed in your type of species variant. She has spent many years researching the mutagenic effects of utrom chemical waste on your planet's fauna."

It isn't the reassurance he'd been hoping for, but it's more than he'd been expecting. He forces himself to take a breath.

"Where is she now?"

"She is with your brother, Raphael. We are hoping her knowledge will be an asset during his procedure and recovery."

Don nods once, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. It had felt like a dream, actually having the luxury of real doctors, real medical equipment, actual medicine that went beyond sewing his family together with fishing line and boiled needles. Staving off infection with nothing but Tylenol and a prayer.

It was so easy to believe that the utroms could do anything. With all their technology, they _should_ be able to do everything. And it kills him to realize that even the utroms have their limitations. That even after they were scooped up from the edge of oblivion, brought onto this ship like some kind of miracle, it still wasn't enough. Even with all these resources right at their fingertips, what they are still kept them from getting what they need.

For a moment, he just lets himself go. Grief, self-pity, worry, frustration… it all washes over him like cold water deep enough to crush his bones. He buries his face in his hands and breathes, feeling the doctor's eyes on him and not giving a single damn about it. The utrom waits in silence until he gathers himself away from the verge of tears, takes a shuddering breath, rubs his face and moves on like nothing happened.

"I guess you don't have any news on how that's going."

"Unfortunately, I don't," Obligado says, his attention drifting back to the monitors. "But I can tell you whatever you need to know about Leonardo's condition."

"Okay," he thinks aloud. Then it's time to ask questions. "Is he still getting a blood transfusion?"

"Not blood," the doctor corrects cooly, "A synthetic blood replacement. And yes, he's currently receiving his second unit. It should be his last, but we will be monitoring him closely overnight for any changes."

"And there hasn't been any reaction?"

"Nothing more than a slight elevation of his body temperature. It's a very common side-effect."

All right. So far so good, but his heart gives a nervous flutter when he shifts to a more pressing subject. "Glurin had mentioned something about nerve damage."

"Ah, yes," the utrom says, his metallic fingers still clicking away. "For now it is too soon to tell, but there is a chance his injuries will have lasting effects on the use of that arm."

"So it's just a possibility."

"Correct."

"Good." He can hardly keep the relieved smile off his face. It's too soon to celebrate. They still have a long road ahead of them. But he can't help feeling his hopes lift even as his expectations remain grounded. "So how long does he have?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Leo isn't exactly the type who does well standing still," he clarifies, this time allowing himself a wry smile that's born of a fond type of frustration more than anything. "Usually I have to threaten to sedate him before I can convince him to take it easy. Injured or not, he'll want out of that hospital bed the second he can walk out of there."

"I see," Obligado says, clearly unimpressed. "If he does well overnight, he should be able to be discharged tomorrow evening. Though healing may take several months. He will have to, as you say, _take it easy_ until then."

"Okay," Don says for what feels like the thirteenth time that evening. As if saying the word would make it so. He can already see himself fighting with Leo to keep him from pushing it too far too fast, but he'll reach that hurdle when he comes to it. "I know I'm not a doctor, but I've spent a lot of time having to _act_ as one. And I've done a lot of research. If there's anything I can do…"

"Then perhaps I should start at the beginning," the utrom says, his needle-like fingers ghosting over another monitor. This time he brings up several projected images of his brother's injured shoulder as he begins describing Leo's procedure in depth.

Usually, Don was never the type to have trouble focusing. If anything, he had trouble _un-_focusing whenever something piqued his interest. But listening to the utrom talk about tendons and ligaments, ligating blood vessels, repairing muscle, and explaining a diagram of Leo's shattered scapula before and after surgery was far less interesting than he first expected. Though he still asked plenty of questions, he only half-listened to the answers.

After all the research he's done on both human and turtle anatomy, all the studying he's managed on his own body and his family's, every book and medical journal he's read, he knows he should be fascinated. If he wasn't stressed out, worried sick, and still hopped up on some pretty mean muscle relaxers, he'd be perfectly elated for the learning opportunity. But right now, all he can really think about is when they'll let him see Leo.

By the time Glurin returns and they're finally wheeling him toward his brother's room, a headache has started blossoming behind his eyes. But he doesn't care. It's just an exercise in mind over matter. He has to stop thinking about how heavy his head feels, how the muscle relaxers make his whole body feel like oatmeal. He has to hold on to the massive ball of stress tieing his stomach in knots, keep thinking of his brothers, of Master Splinter floating in stasis in that biosuspension chamber, and how much they all need him right now.

He can do this.

As they wheel him into the recovery room, he's caught off guard by a frantic bolt of fear that has him wishing he could sprint to his brother's side. Leo looks _bad._ He's not sure what he'd been expecting. The surgeon had spent all that time explaining it to him, and he thought he'd be prepared. It's not like he hasn't seen Leo beat to an inch of his life before. But seeing him so pale and covered in bandages, a nest of tubes and wires tangled all over him rattles something inside him.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, forcing down that increasingly familiar feeling of panic rising in his throat as Glurin pushes him to Leo's bedside and leaves him there. For a while, he just stares at the fresh bruises blossoming on his sleeping brother's deathly pale face, completely dumbstruck until he starts distracting himself with studying the equipment around him instead. He doesn't realize Leo had been watching him until his voice startles him out of his reverie.

"...Don?"

It doesn't sound right, too young and slow and thick with sleep, but it overwhelms him with relief. For the first time that night, he spares a genuine smile.

"Yeah, Leo, it's me. Man, am I glad to see you."

"Mm..." Leo tries to shift, a pained noise catching in his throat that makes him wince. "Hurts."

Don's smile grows a little tighter. "I know. You hurt your shoulder pretty badly."

"No…" Leo slurs drunkenly, trying to shake his head clear and blinking groggily in Don's general direction. "The… thing. Went through. She put it through."

"Your sword?"

"Yeah..." Squinting at the ceiling, his face screws up like he smells something foul. "Did we get eaten?"

If it weren't for the circumstance, Donny might've laughed. He's kind of glad he didn't take Mikey along. "No, we're on an Utrom starship."

"Oh. That explains the… things."

And just like that, his eyes are closed again. His expression relaxes, head lolling to the side like he's instantly fallen back asleep. "I'm really tired," he mumbles.

Don's hand drifts to his brother's uninjured arm, just a gentle touch to ground him. It's still hard to believe this is real. Seeing Leo in a hospital bed, with IVs and monitors and everything he could ever need. As terrifying as this all has been, it warms his heart to see it. To know that for once, his brother isn't languishing in the sewers with nothing but Splinter's herbal remedies to help him. He would've given the shell off his back to have had this the night he came crashing through April's window. Those nights spent at the farmhouse with Leo in a coma as he battled the fever threatening to boil his brother alive was one of the worst moments of his life.

"You can go back to sleep," he says quietly. "You need your rest."

"I can't sleep," Leo whispers shakily, eyes still closed. The unbridled fear in his voice makes his brother's insides turn to ice. "I think I'm…" His breath hitches as tries to shift again. "I'm still dreaming."

Don's grip tightens on his brother's arm. "You're not dreaming. The utroms saved us before the blast. We made it out."

Silence ticks by unbidden, and Leo only lets out a shaky breath that rattles in his chest. Still, his eyes don't open, but Donny knows he isn't asleep. He's _afraid._ After what they went through, who can blame him? Waking up sedated and confused on an utrom starship after almost blowing your whole family to pieces is no picnic. And as exhausted as he is, Don has no problem staying with him. After all the times Leo has been there when he was afraid, helped him talk through his nightmares and all his worst fears, he will always be there to return the favor.

He slowly traces his thumb over his brother's mottled skin, letting himself absorb the fact that he's _here._ He can touch him, be with him after all the terror that had happened on the ship. Fractured memories of just hours before flashing through his head, the smell of blood pooling like an ocean under his brother's still body...

"Mikey said hi, by the way," he remembers suddenly, shaking his head clear and trying to ease his racing heart. For now, he chooses to omit the more emotional message. That's better left for later when Mikey can tell him himself. Right now, he's too emotionally drained to talk about things like that. It's been hard enough to keep it together already.

Leo's eyes slide open again, hazily focusing on a random spot of the room. "Hi, Mikey…"

All right, so maybe it is a _little_ funny to see Leo doped up like this, but Don doesn't have the heart to laugh at his expense. Not now, anyway. Not when he's this weak.

"No, he's not here now. He's resting, but he'll be here later. He's pretty mad he couldn't make it."

"Oh." Leo closes his eyes again, his head rolling sideways to face him. His brow is furrowed with concern. "Where is he?"

"Just a little ways down the hall."

"Where's Raph?"

"Still in surgery."

"Where's Master Splinter?"

"He's…" Don hesitates. Now really isn't the time to start talking about their mostly dead father. Leo has the right to know what's going on, but not so soon after losing more than half his blood volume. "He's getting taken care of."

"Ask him to come here…," he moans, closing his eyes again. "My arm hurts. And I want some… some tea..."

"I don't think you're supposed to drink anything yet. You're still pretty out of it."

"Jus' a glass of water, then?" He asks innocently.

This time, Don has to stifle a snort. Part of him wishes he had a camera to record this and play back later, but he knows he could never be quite that cruel. "Not yet. I'm sure they'll give you something as soon as you're ready."

"Oh," he slurs, still not bothering to open his eyes again. "Okay."

Then Leo goes quiet again, and this time, Don's sure he's fallen back asleep. The minute he starts thinking of getting back to Mikey, Leo's eyes open again, giving him a strange, drug-induced smile.

"Hi, Donny."

"Hi, Leo."

He frowns as his watery gaze rests lazily on his brother's cast. "You hurt your arm."

"Not as badly as you did."

"Sorry."

"For what?" He wonders, growing more concerned when his brother tilts his head away, refusing to answer. "Leo, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"I... made everyone die. I didn't mean to make everyone… die."

Don's heart plunges like a rock, watching the emotions wash unrestrained across his brother's face. Pain, sadness, anger. Even through the drug-muddled haze, there's a hardness in his eyes Don has never seen before, and wishes he never will again.

"No one died, Leo." He reaches for his brother's arm again, trying to catch his eyes, but Leo keeps his gaze glued the wall beside him. "The Utroms found us in time. I told you that. They put a stasis bubble around us right before the blast."

"It… blew up. I said to blow it up. It was _my _idea." He growls, teeth bared in an angry grimace. His arm wrenches away from under Don's hand, grabbing at the bandages wrapped around his injured shoulder. "I couldn't..."

Donny's shoulders slump. Figures, he thinks. It's like Leo's hardly been conscious for five minutes and he's already blaming himself for what happened. He only wishes he wasn't well beyond his emotional capacity for the day. He should say something reassuring, try to convince Leo that there isn't anything to blame him for, try to make him understand. But arguing with Leo when he's drugged to the gills and on one of his guilt trips is a trial in patience he just isn't feeling up to at the moment.

"Don't touch it," Don chides with a little more aggravation than he intended. When he reaches forward he almost collapses face-first into the side of the bed before he can gently pry his brother's hand away. Luckily Leo is as weak as a kitten. He doesn't even try to fight.

Trying to ease his growing irritation, Don sinks back into the wheelchair with a sigh, pinching the skin between his eyes in a lame attempt to relieve some of the pressure there. "I know you want to beat yourself up over this, but you really do need to rest. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

Leo doesn't answer, only stares glassily into an abyss only he can see. When he refuses to say anything or even look at him, Don calls Glurin back and silently leaves him to his brooding. He just doesn't have the energy for this right now, and his head is killing him.

Maybe all Leo needs is time to sort things out, he thinks. Hopes. There's nothing else he can do.

Still, the anger written on his brother's face haunts him like a ghost.


	5. Chapter 5

Mikey sleeps like the dead until the thin mattress dips and panicked dreams of falling jostle him into semi-consciousness. It takes him a while to realize why, his heart still racing as he slowly blinks the sleep out of his eyes. In the dim golden light, he can barely make out Don's shadow hunched at the edge of his bed, holding his head in his hands.

"Mmm." He stretches, wincing at the pull of sore muscles. His brain still feels like it's full of oatmeal from the lingering effects of the sedatives, and stringing two thoughts together is like slogging through muddy water. His tongue feels too big for his mouth, making his words slurred and thick. "How's Leo?"

Don startles a little, glancing up from staring vacantly at a spot on the floor. There's a new tension in his voice that Mike can't quite place.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he apologizes quietly, rubbing at his forehead. "He's a little weak, but he'll be fine. He's already beating himself up for what happened. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Mike doesn't say anything, just frowns. _Of course_ Leo would beat himself up. Leo always feels like he's personally responsible for everything that happens to them. But this... this is _huge_. They almost committed _suicide_, for cripe's sake! _Did_ commit suicide, if it wasn't for the utroms. But it was a decision they all made together, and it was more than worth it considering what was at stake. But Leo wouldn't consider that. Not rationally, anway. He'd be _sure_ there was something he missed that could've prevented them from going all kamikaze on the Shredder's metal butt. Though beyond that, Mike can't even begin to imagine what was going through his brother's head. Now he can only think of Leo all alone in his hospital room, lying there hating himself.

The new worry makes his stomach grow sour, but at least he feels like he's past the point of getting sick again. Now he's just stuck with a killer case of acid reflux.

Don's answer isn't the one he wanted. He never likes when his brothers talked about each other behind their backs. Not about stuff like this, anyway. Sure, Raph unloaded on him about Don or Leo all the time, but that doesn't mean he likes it. He just grins and bears it because Raph unloading on him means he's not exploding at someone else. And it was always so hard getting him to talk in the first place.

But Don knows better, mostly because Don is _his_ sounding board whenever he's upset. He knows how he feels about that stuff.

After a long moment of uneasy quiet, Don runs a tired hand over his face. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

And it really is. Even if it makes his stomachache worse, he knows that Don's tired and stressed out. The poor guy's at his wit's end.

"They're just keeping him overnight. He's getting one more transfusion, then they said he should be up and around again by morning. We should be on the Homeworld by then."

"Well that's good," Mike says lamely, sparing a tight smile. In the dark Donny can't see it, but he knows he can hear it in his voice.

As bad as he feels, Mike has to stay focused on the positive side of things. There's so much awful stuff going on right now, it's easy to forget exactly how lucky they are to be alive. So he keeps swallowing down all those bad feelings into that oily churning in his gut, staying optimistic even if it means making himself sick in the process. But it's worth it. Don's wearing himself out keeping everything in, and Mike's already had his little freakout for the day. Now it's his job to pull it together.

Slowly, he sits himself up, talking quietly over Don's shoulder.

"You okay?"

Don sighs again, heavier this time. "I'm okay," he says reluctantly, awkwardly reaching back to try to massage the tension out of his neck. "I just ache all over."

"C'mere."

When Don looks back, Mike's sitting up, reaching out for him with open arms. He lets out a breath as he scootches back into his brother's waiting hands. Slowly, Mike kneads out muscles in his badly bruised neck and shoulders, using the gentle energy manipulating techniques Splinter had taught them a long time ago.

Don groans in a mix of pain and relief, his head lolling forward as he tries to let himself relax. Mike can't help the lopsided smile spreading across his face, but he can tell there's something about his brother's energy that's seriously off. His muscles are hard as rocks, and a few minutes in, Don starts rubbing at his face again. Tired, stressed, sure, but this is something else.

"I think I'm getting a migraine," he groans, blinking rapidly as strange lights skitter like fireflies across his vision. "My head is killing me and I'm seeing auras."

Mike isn't all that excited for the validation to his worries. At least he's no stranger to dealing with brothers with migraines. Between Don and Leo he's used to hunting down the Excedrin and tiptoeing around in the dark while one of them yells at him for being too loud. But that doesn't mean he's feeling up to dealing with it _now_.

His fingers find a knot in Don's neck and he just about shoots out of his seat.

"Okay, tha's enough," he half-slurs, drunkenly swatting his hand away. "I have to lie down."

Yep. It's migraine time. Hooray. Though Mikey doesn't complain when his brother eases himself sideways and joins him under the covers. Not until the movement jostles his leg from where it's propped up on a mound of pillows, sending a deep ache spiking up his thigh.

"_Ow_," he whines. "I don't care if you stay here, but watch the leg."

"Sorry," Don snuffles miserably from under the blanket. His warm breath tickles somewhere by Mike's elbow.

Another moment ticks by with the gentle, comforting rhythm of his brother's steady breathing. But as nice as this is, having his brother close. As much as they both need the rest, Mike can't stop his mind from wandering. "You really think Leo's gonna be okay?"

"Hmmmn...yeah." But there's something hesitant in his voice. "But you know... how he gets..."

"Yeah. I guess so."

He stares up at the network of tubes, tangled like nets of capillaries along the weird ceiling. Sounds filter in from outside, and he sits listening to the distant clamor of voices and clattering metal footsteps of exosuits in the hallway, the crash-bang of equipment being shuttled to and fro, and the strange, alien sounds he can't place. It makes him wonder about home, about Leatherhead and April and Casey, how they are, what they're thinking. It's not the first time they've disappeared, but not like this. He wonders if they think they're dead. Exhaustion makes his eyes hurt, but he can't bring himself to close them. He's tired, but he couldn't sleep if he tried.

After a while, Don tosses restlessly, locked in his own losing battle with sleep. His brain is a full-blown explosion of throbbing pressure and pain. Distantly, he wonders if he should bother asking the utroms for meds, but it feels like too much hassle. He'd rather just lay there and die slowly.

Or whine. Whining seems like a good option. He flops over onto his stomach in a failed attempt to smother himself with his pillow. That only pins his injured arm under his plastron and makes it explode with pain, so he rolls over again, groaning irritably.

Mike pats his shoulder roughly. "I wonder if utroms have Excedrin."

Don moans in a way that he can only hope would convey the message of: _Yes, please god… _But he won't say it outright. Mike's hurt worse than he is, and he needs his rest. He doesn't want to be a bother, making him hunt down meds for him that may or may not even exist.

Oblivious to his brother's mental dilemma, Mikey doesn't move and doesn't respond. That's always a bad sign. It means his mind is wandering to other places.

"Did you hear anything about Raph when I was out?" He asks.

Don gingerly shakes his head against the pillow, trying not to hate his brother for changing the subject. "Tol' Glurin to tell me when he's..." He trails off, swallowing thickly, then starts again. "When he's done."

_Wow_, Mike thinks, _how many hours has it been?_ It only scares him into imagining what could be taking so long, making his heart do an uncomfortable little flutter in his chest. _What if something went wrong?_

"Are you really sure you're okay, Donny? I could try finding some meds or something..."

"You don't have to," Don moans quietly into the pillow. "'M okay. Jus' feeling… a 'lil sick."

"Me too."

Don lifts his head, lines of pain pinching the skin around his eyes. Mike offers a tight smile, feeling bad for even saying anything. Huffing a sigh, he looks away again. He has no idea what he should do.

"I want to go see Master Splinter."

"Yeah," Don slurs, restlessly trying to get himself comfortable again. "Maybe... inna lil' while."

"Sure." In a little while. Maybe in a little while he'll feel a little steadier. Maybe in a little while he'll feel like he's able to handle this. But for now, all they can do is rest and wait for the electrical storm to stop ravaging Donny's brain.

He reaches under the covers for his brother's unbandaged hand, running a thumb over his rough knuckles. "Love you, Donny. Feel better."

Don's eyes are closed, his face creased with pain, but he manages a smile. "Love you too."

What feels like seconds later, he's startled awake again by something cold resting on his shoulder. This time he doesn't even remember falling asleep or even why he isn't in his own bed at home. But after a breath, his heartbeat slows with his returning memory. The minute his eyes adjust, they fall onto the cool metal hand of an utrom exosuit. The Shredder. The ship. It all comes rushing back like a freight train. And he can recognize Glurin's voice, the rest of him just a dark silhouette against the dull yellow hallway light.

"I apologize for waking you, Michelangelo, but Donatello had asked me to notify him when Raphael was out of surgery." The utrom glances hesitantly at the sleeping mound beside him. Sometime in the last couple hours, Don had curled up on his side, mashing the pillow down over his head in a vain attempt to block out all light and sound. "He appears reluctant to be roused."

"He has a headache," Mike replies flatly, not really sure why he sounds so defensive. Probably because he's tired, sore, and strung out as hell. He guesses any one of those gives him a valid reason to be a little crabby. "How's Raph?"

"He's recovering from anesthesia," the utrom replies. "That is all I know for now."

Mike drags a tired hand across his scalp, his brain still thick with sleep and dreams of home. Remembering where he was rubs him raw, makes him hurt even more than a broken leg and all the lingering cuts and bruises from the night before. "What time's it?"

"Roughly twelve-hundred. Though it's about five AM Eastern Standard Time on Earth."

Is it possible to get jet lag in space? Or would that be ship lag? Space lag? Either way, he feels all kinds of turned around.

"Can we see him?"

"Not at the moment. He needs his rest; as do you. I'll let you know if anything changes."

The news really does nothing for the stress and worry still raking the walls of his stomach. "Yeah. Thanks," he grumbles moodily.

Before he can think of more questions, the utrom has already disappeared into the hallway.

In the quiet that's left behind, his eyes fall on the softly snoring lump at his side. He wishes Donny would wake up soon.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: My apologies for the technical errors when I first posted this chapter. My migrane got the best of me and messed with the copy/paste, so there was originally a section tacked on the end that belongs way farther down in the story. Yeesh._

* * *

Hours later, Mike dozes lightly around the throbbing in his leg. He can feel his heartbeat pulsing in the bone, imagining little guys with pickaxes drilling and building and reshaping it, whistling while they worked like the seven dwarves. He thinks about Raph, waking up all alone in that freaky hospital room. He wonders if he's scared.

As brave as Raph pretends to be, Mike knows he's the easiest to scare out of all of them. Mike may get freaked out by monsters and horror movies, and he knows his scream isn't exactly the manliest thing in the world. But when the scary things come knocking, he's not afraid to beat the ever-loving crud out of them because what he fears is _tangible._

The stuff Raph's scared of isn't the stuff you can touch. It isn't some monster trying to eat you. Because Raph thinks _he's_ the monster. He lives like people are gonna flood his gates at dawn with torches and pitchforks. And maybe some might, but he lives like everyone and everything is out to get him. Being big and cranky and violent is just the way he deals with it. Like things can't scare him if he scares them first.

Waking up all disoriented and in a world of hurt on an utrom starship? Yeah... he's almost glad Raph isn't in any kind of shape to fight. But not being able to act all big and intimidating in an unfamiliar place would _definitely_ scare the pants off a guy like Raph.

Worry gnaws at his gut like battery acid.

"Don."

Don is still a softly snoring lump curled up cat-like against his side. It's like he's trying to make himself as small as possible against the little miners digging in his brain. (Maybe they're the same little miners working on his leg. He wonders what that throbbing would be like inside his head, and it gives him a whole new kind of empathy.)

"_Mmuh_?" Is all he offers, stirring slightly under the covers. It's hardly English, but Mike knows the whine in his voice translates to something like: _What do you want?_

"We have to go see Raph."

This time, he doesn't even move, just grunts. Behold his brother: the big grunting blanket pile.

"Is your head still imploding?"

"_Yes_...," moans the pile.

"He's gonna be really freaked out."

Slowly, like he's moving under six feet of wet concrete, Don finally peels the blanket off his face. When Mike turns his head, he's surprised to not-quite-meet his brother's unfocused gaze.

"I know," Don says miserably, squinting as if looking into the sun. What little light there is in the room drives into his brain like spikes hammered straight through his eyes.

"Can you see?"

"Not really."

For a minute, Mike just frowns. As much as he hates to do this to Don, he's already made up his mind. "I have to go see him. I can go on my own if I have to."

"But I don't want you to..." Don whines in a voice that makes him sound about six years old. It isn't fair. Mike isn't used to having his own powers used against him.

"Why? I'll be okay. Scout's honor." He even puts up a hand like he's swearing on a bible. This is serious business.

"I don't want you to go..."

"And _I_ didn't want _you _to go when you went to see Leo without me," he replies tartly. Don can't say he's wrong about that.

There's a long moment where his brother just frowns the saddest frown Mike's ever seen. A second later he can see the gears turning, and he reluctantly bobs his head in a nod. "Touche."

Mike grins something that doesn't feel completely genuine, patting Don on the knee before swinging himself out of bed and grappling for the crutches leaning on a nearby wall. "I'll be back before you know it."

If Don's brains weren't so thoroughly scrambled, he'd realize what a bad idea this is. Still, there's a bad feeling niggling in the back of his mind as he watches his brother's shadow hobble into the hallway and disappear.

But for Mikey, leaving their room was no big deal. Don will be fine, and he'll be back soon. Not to mention that technically they both had been discharged hours ago. The only thing keeping them in the med bay was the few hours' wait until they landed on the homeworld. From there they were promised a more comfortable place to stay and wait and worry for the things to come.

Though over the last twenty-four hours, Mike feels like he's had more than enough things to worry about. Around this time yesterday they'd been planning to crash Saki's so-called "going away party". They all had known there was a chance they wouldn't walk away from it. It was how it always was when facing the Shredder. But that time, there was no limping away to Northampton with their tails tucked between their legs. They had to do everything they could to win or die trying.

The reason why still made his skin crawl. He'll never forget the look on Donny's face the day they all came stumbling back from other worlds. How he'd hugged him so tight it crushed the air out of his lungs saying: _Mikey! You have two arms! _And then that night, all of them gathered in the living room swapping stories. How a cold hush fell over them as Don, pale-faced and shaking, told them everything.

He'd felt sick for days afterward. They all did. It had been like a black cloud was hanging over them. Everyone mulled around the Lair being weirdly quiet, sullenly moving through practice and barely talking to one another until Leo, just randomly standing in the kitchen, promised them all they would never let that happen. That he would make sure they did everything they could to stop it.

Yesterday night had been their last chance to end the nightmare for good.

Things had been bleak then. There was no way he would've ever expected to be on an utrom starship getting real medical care when his family was making that leap onto the Shredder's moving ship. He hadn't even expected to be _alive_ right now. But here they were. Both Leo and Raph made it through the first few hours, survived the surgeries they needed to save their lives, and Leo would be able to get out of there with them in the morning. But then there was still Master Splinter. The thought of him floating badly burned and half-dead in a biosuspension chamber sent a lance of hot panic through his stomach that made him feel sick all over again. And there's still no telling what kind of shape Raph was really in.

As lucky as they were at that moment, the good things that've happened did nothing to make him feel better. There was still too much at stake for any real kind of optimism. Hobbling his way down the strangely-lit hallway, Mike tries hard to count his blessings. Usually that was something that came naturally. It's not like he's never had to worry about his family being in danger of dying before. They lived a hard life. They were _always_ in danger of something, and it's not the first time someone in his family was hurt or sick enough to be afraid of losing them.

He thinks he should be a pro at handling this kind of thing by now. But even after hours of crying himself sick, then promising himself he'd keep things together, he still feels like he's coming apart at the seams. Exhaustion wears down on him like a lead weight, and his stomach still aches as a constant reminder. But he shakily presses on, getting re-used to the rhythm of walking with crutches. It's hard and it hurts, but it gets easier with every step.

A door opens to his right, making way for an utrom on a hover pad, frowning at a small device clutched in its claw-like hands. It looks up, offering a slight smile as it hurries past. Mike pauses just long enough to smile back before they part ways, his attention drifting to the door slowly sliding shut behind him. Just before it closes, he catches a glimpse of utrom medical equipment and a flash of green skin bundled on the bed beside it.

"Hey!" He winces at the echo of his own voice, and the irritated look the utrom throws his way as he turns about-face. Mike can only offer a sheepish grin, gesturing at the door with a crutch. "Uh, sorry. Is my brother in there?"

"That is Leonardo's room, yes."

The utrom guy's voice is cold, and he speaks in a way that says he's obviously very busy, but Mike really can't care less. That's his _brother_ in there. Does this guy want him to ignore that? And it's not like he's not used to people with really bad social skills. He grew up with _Raph_, after all. The only thing that has him nervous is the idea of finding out exactly what is happening behind that door. "So… can I see him?"

"His condition is stable. I don't see why not."

His heart skips half a beat. It's hard to tell if it's from fear or anticipation. "Okay. Yeah, thanks."

A second later, the utrom is gone and Mike is alone, still staring at the door outside his brother's room. So he's found Leo's room. Not exactly according to plan, but this works too. He can't just walk by now. Raph… he just hopes he'll be okay to wait a little longer.

Mike takes a deep breath, desperately trying to steady himself. Don't think about what _might_ happen. Think about what _is_ happening. Leo's hurt bad and he hasn't seen him since the moment they were kissing their shells goodbye. Maybe seeing Leo alive and doing well will help him deal with everything else. But most of all, he just wants to see his big brother. "Okay," he whispers under his breath. "You better be okay."

He punches the sensor and the door slides silently open.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Sorry for not posting last week. I've spent the past couple weeks traveling across the country, fighting uphill and against the wind, and meeting the best person in my life for the first time. Hopefully updates will stay consistent from now on._

* * *

Crossing the threshold, the heavy silence is as stifling as the smell of antiseptic stinging his nose. Mikey has to remind himself to breathe. Only the errant beep and hum of monitoring equipment breaks it. The rhythmic _tick, pat_ of his crutches sounds deafeningly loud on the cold metal floor. The door slides shut behind him, snuffing out any trace of the hallway sounds. His ears are still ringing from the blast.

For a moment, he just stands there, shifting unsteadily in the middle of the room. The shape that is Leo, silhouetted on the bed by dim golden light, watches him stiffly with haggard shadows under his eyes. Staring. His expression unchanging. Not saying a word.

Mike coughs softly, the knot in his stomach twisting tighter with every uninterrupted second. The way his brother's stare bores right through him sends sharp flickers of terrified concern through his bones, his heart hammering harder in his throat. It's like Leo's in the middle of some kind of creepy, open-eyed meditation. His eyes are empty, and darker than anything. Just two pools of shadows staring from a gravely pale face.

"Hey, Leo," he says cautiously, not wanting to go any further. "How're you feeling?"

But Leo still says nothing, doesn't even move. Just keeps staring.

Panic flairs in his chest, followed quickly by a sinking iron dread. Why isn't he saying anything? What _happened_ to him? Donny only told him that he's weak and blaming himself. Nothing like _this._ He failed to mention Leo's sudden _brain damage_ or the fact that he's gone _completely freaking crazy_ in a matter of hours.

It isn't right. Something seriously isn't right.

"Leo?" He tries again shakily, moving toward the bed against the pull of an invisible force that's begging him to turn and run the other way. "What's wrong?"

Mikey offers him a tight smile, but it's like Leo's made of stone. Instead of answering, he just turns his head away. This is not the warm reunion he had been hoping for. It only sparks a whole new stab of worry, spurring him faster toward his brother's bed to make sure he's okay.

Leo's pale. _Really_ pale. His skin has a grayish tinge and almost all of him is covered in bandages. Not to mention the unnerving tangle of tubes and wires protruding from his skin. But otherwise, he's sitting up, he's in one piece, and Mike can't help the flood of relief washing over him even while a whole new worry is hardening in his gut.

"_Leo_," he whines as his brother still refuses to acknowledge his presence. There's nothing Mikey hates more than being ignored, and he can't let himself think it's anything more. But Leo's eyes stay glued to the wall even after he leans his crutches against it and awkwardly maneuvers himself to sit on the bed. "So are you gonna give me a hug or what?"

Leo doesn't move, won't even break his staring contest with the wall after Mike waves his hand in front of his face. "Hell-_o_! Earth to Leo!"

Leo only winces as Mike jostles the bed, leaning forward into his field of view.

From what Don said, he'd been expecting Leo to be down in the dumps, sure. But he was positive he'd be able to turn him around. He was the champion at cheering people up, after all. But he's never seen Leo quite like this before, so focused on his bad mood that he won't even acknowledge anything around him.

"Why're you acting so weird?"

Finally, Leo answers in a ragged whisper. His voice is hard, distant, and cuts like a rusty knife.

"I killed you."

Mike rocks backward, blinking rapidly like he'd been slapped. "Huh?"

It only takes him a moment to process it, the pit of his stomach dropping like a rock. Donny's voice echoing in his head: _He's already blaming himself for what happened._

A second later he's regained his composure with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, trying to break the tension by looking down at himself in mock surprise and patting himself on the chest.

"What? I'm dead!? But I'm too pretty to die!" He shrieks, but Leo doesn't even flinch. Mike sighs. Feeling deflated, he drops the act for a rare moment of sincerity. "Pretty sure I'm still here, bro. You didn't kill anyone except maybe a half a dozen Foot ninja, and you know they were asking for it."

But his brother's eyes stay glued to the wall, stiff and cold as ice. This's almost worse, Mike thinks. He would've rather seen his brother worse off and acting like himself instead of like some kind of robot.

"I'm gonna see Raph in a few minutes," he offers, one last desperate attempt to strike up a conversation, get some kind of response, _anything._

Finally, Leo's eyes lock on him, wide and desperate, leaving him squirming under the icy blaze of their piercing intensity. His hand snatches an iron grip on Mikey's arm. "What happened to him? To Master Splinter?"

"Leo, come on." Mike hardly stifles a whimper, not from the pain of his brother's crushing grip, but because of the eerie cold light of madness burning in his eyes. "You're seriously freaking me out."

"What _happened_ to them?" He growls with a throat full of gravel. Then, he sucks in a breath and his grip loosens. "They're not telling me anything."

Mike can't help fidgeting nervously, his eyes dropping to his lap to avoid his brother's chilling gaze. "Well, Raph just got out of surgery. I guess the Shredder pretty much bashed his shell in. And…" There's that pain in his chest he can't shake. His mouth grows dry and he swallows hard to moisten it. "And Master Splinter's still in that creepy stasis chamber thing. Other than that I guess I'm just as in the dark as you are."

For some reason that seems to satisfy him, and he finally lets go of Mikey's arm with a quiet grunt. Then he's back to staring at the wall again. But this time, anger falls like a shadow over the lines of his face. It's a look Mike's more used to seeing on Raph, and it just feels… _weird_ seeing it on Leo. Not right. And he wants so badly to make it better. He hates this… whatever this is. Anger? Depression? Maybe it's a little of both, but either way, it isn't Leo. This isn't his brother.

A moment of silence ticks by, and Mike ends up fiddling distractedly with the sheets. And he thinks, now it's time to be serious. He _hates_ these kinds of conversations, but sometimes you just have to suck it up and power through.

"You made the right decision, you know," he says quietly, his eyes locked on the sheet he's twisting in his hands. "Back on the ship. We did what we-"

"_Get out._"

The ice in his voice makes Mike's heart twinge. When he looks up, startled, he meets the scariest, most intense look of rage he has ever seen on his brother's face. And it was directed at _him._ His mouth hangs open, dumbstruck into a rare moment of speechlessness.

A second later, Leo retreats back into himself and his eyes travel back to the wall. "I don't want to talk about it. Leave me alone."

"But…"

"Leave me _alone,_ Mikey."

Something inside him breaks, crushed slowly by the weight of dread and the heaviness in his brother's voice. He doesn't understand what's happening. He doesn't understand why Leo's so freaking _angry, _or why he's taking it out on him.

"Leo, _come on_."

But Leo shuts down again. Unmoving. An uncomfortable silence ticks by, and Mike takes it as his cue to leave. Shakily, he fumbles for his crutches, keeps his head down. Won't let Leo see how much this hurts.

"Okay... I guess I'll go, then. Hope you feel better," he says quietly, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice. And slowly, gently, he dares to wrap him in a hug. It's like hugging a hunk of wood and he hates it. It's the worst feeling in the world. "Love you, bro. You're the best. Don't forget it."


End file.
